


Christmas in the City

by TheCorrosivePen



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Always the sexual tension, Christmas in the City, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Sexual Tension, Skating in Rockefeller Center, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCorrosivePen/pseuds/TheCorrosivePen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke comes to the rink at Rockefeller Center a week before Christmas to remember and forget the untimely passing of her father. When a stranger and his sister reach out to her, can she let down her guard or will she let a chance at true love pass her by?</p><p>A holiday Bellarke story set in four movements (Joy, Grief, Trust, and Love) against the backdrop of Christmas in New York City.</p><p>Happy Holidays!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Movement: Joy

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting the four movements of this story over the coming days, with the last post on Christmas Eve. I hope you enjoy. The title comes from the song "Silver Bells" and its line "It's Christmas time in the city."
> 
> I love NYC at Christmas time and part of this work is simply a tribute to the amazing holiday spirit you feel in the city streets during the holiday months.

**First Movement: Joy**

 

“I think you have to tie those.”

Clarke glanced down at the white skate laces hanging limply in her hands before peering back at the young man who had spoken.  A smile tugged at his lips as he ran a hand nervously through his curly black hair. A red and green plaid scarf was wrapped haphazardly around his neck above a gray peacoat. Despite the semi-formal ensemble, his demeanor was casual and his dark eyes sparkled in the twinkling holiday lights encircling Rockefeller Center. He’d paused tying his hockey skates while speaking to her, but upon her continued silence he resumed lacing them.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude…”

“No, no,” she breathed out, dropping her skate laces and turning more fully toward him. “It’s fine. I just spaced out there.”

Which was a complete lie. She hadn’t spaced out. She knew exactly where she was and the pain of it was like a million hornet stings. This had been their tradition for nearly three decades; a week before Christmas they’d come to Rockefeller Center and go skating. It didn’t matter if her mother could make it down to the city or not, this tradition belonged to Clarke and her father. And now he was gone and Clarke had no idea how to be human again.

She’d tried just going about life as usual, but that had been an epic fail that ended with the worst breakdown of her life while driving on the Taconic State Parkway. A car had been the worst possible place to have the loss of Jake Griffin bowl over her like a tidal wave. The Taconic had just been icing on the cake. With no shoulder to pull over, she’d driven, tears streaming down her face and hysterical hiccups her only soundtrack, until she’d finally pulled off at the first Poughkeepsie exit. She’d pulled into the gas station at the side of the road and just let the waterworks flow until she could finally see again. Then she’d driven home and vowed to do something different.

So here she was, doing something different. This tradition was one of her favorites and Clarke hadn’t been able to imagine the Christmas season without it. What she hadn’t counted on was the oppressive grief the minute she actually sat down on the bench and pulled out her battered old skates. She’d thought it would be cathartic. A little pain followed by a whole lot of acceptance or something. Instead it was just heart-wrenching pain, followed by unrelenting grief.

Clarke tried to give the dark stranger a reassuring smile, but her lips refused to cooperate and she only managed a pathetic grimace. His eyes darkened as he stared back at her, his lips pursing for a moment before he spoke. “I take it this holiday season hasn’t been the most joyful?”

She stiffened for a moment, wondering how in the world he’d made that deduction, before sighing. It hardly mattered how he’d figured out the dark cloud looming over her existed. It was nice to have someone, anyone at all, realize she wasn’t okay. Not that she wanted to spew all of her tragic life details to some stranger, but it was nice to be noticed.

“Yeah. You could say that.” She paused, studying him more attentively. His dark lashes sent shadows across a spattering of freckles dusting his nose and cheeks. The skin around eyes crinkled slightly and she reckoned he’d have dimples when he smiled. Gathering her laces again, she sent a more genuine smile his direction. “So are you a native or is this some holiday vacation?”

“Native, at least for the past few years. My sister is going to school at NYU so I moved to the city to be closer to her.”

His eyes lit up as he mentioned his sister, sending a rush of something unfamiliar down Clarke’s spine. She put her full attention into pulling the laces tight on her right skate before moving on to her left. “Is she here?”

“Yeah.” He motioned out toward a brunette girl spinning at center ice. “She used to compete as kid, so she insists on coming here every chance she gets. I think she just likes showing off, but don’t tell her I ever said that.”

Clarke let out a small laugh, marveling at how natural it felt. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. “I get that. I used to compete a bit when I was younger too. My dad and I would come every year and yeah, I mostly just wanted to show off a bit…”

His eyes ran up and down her form with a more critical gaze, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I look forward to see your skills out there.”

“I’m pretty rusty. Being a doctor doesn’t exactly allow for much time to hit the rink.”

“You’re a doctor?”

Feeling suddenly self-conscious again, she pulled extra hard on the laces of her left skate. “Uh, yeah…”

As if sensing her insecurity, he shook his head, sending black curls dancing about his head. “It’s not that I have anything against doctors… it’s just you look really young to be a doctor.”

Clarke bit her lip, smiling down at her skate. “Is that your subtle way of asking how old I am?”

It was his turn to laugh now, the melodious sound sending a pleasant tremor through her. “I would never presume to ask a woman her age, especially before I even know her name.” He stuck out his hand, a roguish grin bringing out his dimples. “Bellamy Blake.”

“Clarke Griffin.” She took his hand, letting her white glove be encompassed by his black leather one. His grip was firm, but not bone shattering. He held on a beat longer than necessary, his dark eyes searching her face, but Clarke couldn’t bring herself to mind. This was the best she’d felt in weeks.

“Do I have to call you Dr. Griffin?” He asked as he stood, moving toward the rink entrance now that both of them had laced their skates.

Clarke baulked, shaking her head vehemently. “God no. That’s what they call my mother. Clarke is fine.”

“Hmm,” he considered. He opened his mouth but a whirl of dark hair and flying snow swept between them as his sister slid into a hockey stop.

“Bell!” She glanced over her shoulder at Clarke, a knowing grin on her face. “What lies have you been telling this nice young woman?”

“Octavia, meet Clarke. Clarke, meet Octavia.” Bellamy motioned between them, amusement leaking into his eyes.

“You better not be like the rest of his blonde bimbos.” Octavia warned as she pivoted to face Clarke, her dark blue eyes running critically over every feature from her wavy blonde hair to her black peacoat and flared dark wash jeans. Octavia expression became significantly brighter as she studied Clarke’s skates, her dark eyes locking with Clarke’s in surprised delight. “Forget I just said that. You’re a figure skater?”

“Once upon a time, yeah,” Clarke replied, a smile tracing her lips. Octavia might be a bit intense, but Clarke already liked her.

“And she’s a doctor, O,” Bellamy added. “Hardly bimbo material.”

Octavia rolled her eyes at her brother before grabbing Clarke’s hand. “Come skate with me!”

Bellamy shrugged helplessly at Clarke as she followed Octavia out to center ice. Octavia came to an abrupt stop when they arrived, but Clarke easily mirrored her motion, muscle memory taking over. The brunette grinned back at her. “Sorry about that. Bell has the worst taste in women. The last one, Roma, was such a bimbo. I kept trying to talk to her about anything substantial, but she only cared about America’s Next Top Model and Keeping up with the Kardashians. I ended up just avoiding his apartment at all costs when she was around.”

Clarke shook her head in amusement. “So where does your brother find all these unworthy women?”

“I have absolutely no idea. He’s a history teacher at this really sweet prep school on the Upper East Side, so all his fellow teachers are super smart. But he doesn’t want to date them. Something about not dating in the workplace and them being elitist snobs.”

“I get that. Prep school teacher, huh? Those jobs are pretty cushy, at least in the city.” Clarke hadn’t ever spent more than a few weekends down in the city, but she knew from her time at college in the Hudson Valley just how snobbish the city’s elite could be.

“It’s way better than what he was earning back home in Pennsylvania. He’s super smart, but Bell just had to sacrifice so much. It’s nice to see him finally getting recognized the way he ought to be.” Octavia smile broadly before shaking her head, dark hair flying. “But enough about that. I want to see what you can do, Doctor.”

An errant giggle erupted from Clarke’s throat.  “Alright, but keep in mind I haven’t skated seriously in over a decade. Med school has a way of killing your soul and your hobbies.”

“We’ll start easy. Scratch spin!”

That she could do. Clarke easily did a few back crossovers before pushing onto a deep outside edge and spinning around in an upright position, her free leg crossing over her spinning leg. Despite the relative short duration of the spin, a rush of elation flooded through her. She’d forgotten how much she loved just spinning, twirling and turning across the ice.

“I suppose that’s passing, Doc. How about a waltz jump?” Octavia questioned giddily. Clearly she was enjoying this as much as Clarke.

“Give me something harder,” Clarke challenged. She could do a waltz jump in her sleep, drunk or both.

“Fine. Axel?”

Clarke stared at her for a moment before grinning. “You really don’t pull your punches do you?”

“Hell no. So can you do it?”

Clarke surveyed the ice. It was crowded, not unexpected for the week before Christmas, but not too crowded. It’d been snowing in the morning and only just stopped when she’d headed to Rockefeller Center, so the rink was emptier than it had been previous years. So she probably wouldn’t accidently kill anyone, but she might get them kicked off. She glanced over at the bored skate guard who was staring unblinkingly down at his phone.

“Yeah, I can definitely do it. But you have to also.” Clarke raised a brow in challenge, already knowing Octavia would accept.

“You’re on.”

Both women grinned at each other as they set out in a wide circle of backward crossovers. Clarke ended up finding an open spot first, stepping forward and vaulting into the one and a half rotation turn like it was just another crossover. She landed cleanly, swinging her free leg out as she curved backward on a deep outside edge. Octavia launched herself a moment later, her technique impeccable as she soared through the jump. A glance at the skate guard, still attached to his phone, let them both know they’d gotten away with it.

They came together at center ice, giggling. Clarke wrapped an arm around Octavia, trying to speak through her laughter. “That was… the most fun I’ve had… in forever.” Octavia merely grinned back, her face bursting with joy.

The sound of muted clapping had them both turning to face Bellamy as he arrived at center ice with a flashy hockey stop. He exchanged a fond look with his sister before turning to Clarke. Her heart skipped a beat as his luminous eyes caught hers, his full lips turned up in a boyish grin.

“I should be calling you Ice Princess or maybe just Princess.” She stared back at him, but he gave no indication that he’d given any thought to the nickname and she found she didn’t mind it nearly as much as she would have expected.

“Fine. But I’m not some physics whiz that can instantly turn your double jumps into triples.”

Octavia exploded into another round of laughter. “Seriously. That movie was so damn lame.”

“Not as bad as Ice Castles. New or old they both call Axels double jumps,” Clarke argued.

Bellamy chuckled across from her. “I think the whole lot of them are terrible. I can’t believe I let O force them upon me. There was this week when she was in middle school where I think we watched all of the Cutting Edge movies. I wanted to die or at least change my name and move to a different town.”

Octavia’s eyes narrowed as she stared her brother down. “One more word about that and you are dead to me, brother mine.”

Clarke shook her head, laughing. She felt lighter than she had in weeks, as if the misery in her veins was finally beginning to abate. Her eyes caught Bellamy’s and warmth flooded through her. Maybe, just maybe she could make her way through this.


	2. Second Movement: Grief

**Second Movement: Grief**

 

They spent the next half-hour playing around the ice with the abandon of those who are at home on blades. The sullen rink guard only yelled at them once when they attempted a three man game of crack the whip. Clarke couldn’t exactly blame him for putting a stop to their likely arm fracturing entertainment, but she was sad to see the moment of pure laughter and delight pass.

As they collapsed onto the benches, Bellamy gave her a weary smile. “I hope we weren’t too much for you. Octavia has a way of plowing though situations…”

She shook her head. “No, it was great. I haven’t felt that much like myself in ages.”

Octavia glanced between them, an inscrutable expression on her face. “Let’s do coffee.”

“Now?” Bellamy asked, his dark brows rising in confusion.

“Why not?” The brunette rounded on Clarke. “Do you have anywhere else you need to be?”

Clarke swallowed, considering the offer. On one hand she very much wanted to accept Octavia’s gracious invitation, but the grief was starting to work its way through the fissures in her happiness and she wasn’t sure how long it would be before it shattered her façade. She shifted her eyes to Bellamy, taking in the strong line of his jaw and the cleft of his chin before meeting his luminous dark eyes. Their brown depths swirled with emotions, dark and light. She took a deep breath, steadying herself in the depths of his gaze. What did she have to lose?

“Sure. I was just planning on taking Metro North later tonight to get home. It leaves from Grand Central every half hour or so until around midnight.”

Octavia nodded. “Then it’s settled.”

Bellamy gave her a helpless shrug, but Clarke shook her head, communicating her acceptance. It was better than spending the entire train ride attempting to hide the rivers of tears sure to erupt from the unsuspecting Metro North passengers. She’d felt happier skating with Octavia than she had in weeks, maybe even months and the connection she felt with Bellamy compelled her to spend more time with the siblings, to get to know them beyond an hour at Rockefeller Center.

She took her time cleaning the snow off her blades, wiping the steel down with the towel she’d gotten at her first competition that was no more than a threadbare rag now. She could never quite bring herself to replace it and after she’d stopped skating during Med school there’d been no use for it beyond the yearly Christmas skate. Placing her fuzzy green soakers over the blades and setting them in her bag she looked up to find Bellamy watching her with intense dark eyes. He looked away as soon as she caught his gaze, but the power of his gaze lingered with her.

She followed silently behind a chattering Octavia as they departed Rockefeller Center, heading downtown along 5th Avenue. All the stores glittered with red and green and lights flashed and glowed wherever she looked. Clarke sighed, remembering her trips to the city as a young girl, her hand grasped firmly in her father’s as she ran from store front to store front gaping at all the lavish Christmas displays. A strangled gasp rose in her throat and her eyes burned. She would give anything to have those moments again, to feel his warm hand around hers.

“Clarke?”

Her head swung up to face Bellamy who had dropped back from his sister, as if sensing her distress. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”

His warm eyes held hers, searching her face, her soul. “It’s not nothing.”

“I can’t talk about it.”

He dropped his head, dark curls obscuring her view of his luminous eyes. “Okay.”

The rest of the walk was silent save for a few comments Octavia directed at her brother, but the tidal wave of grief stayed at bay, allowing Clarke to breathe again. She smiled warmly at Octavia as they ducked into a hole in the wall café that was surprisingly empty for the early evening hour.

“It’s my favorite haunt. Not cool enough for all the hipster spawn.” Octavia explained, eyes flashing with pride. They settled into wooden chairs around a small table at the back of the dimly lit shop as Bellamy headed to the counter to order drinks.

“I can pay for mine…” Clarke began, rising to her feet. Octavia’s surprisingly strong grip on her wrist arrested her progress.

“Don’t. Let Bell do something nice for you.” Her blazing blue eyes gave away nothing, but Clarke yielded to her suggestion, sinking back into her seat.

“So,” Clarke murmured, suddenly unsure of what to say. Beyond bonding over skating, she wasn’t sure how to interact with Octavia. She liked the energetic brunette, but she was suddenly tongue tied as she attempted to conjure a proper topic of conversation. She was saved from any struggles at small talk by Bellamy’s return. He placed a hot chocolate in front of her with a fond grin that sent her heart fluttering as he dropped into the chair across from her.

Octavia took a deep gulp of her steaming Mocha, grinning at her brother. “Fucking fantastic as always.” She snapped one of the to go lids on her cup and stood, gathering her purse.

Bellamy stared at her, eyes widening. “O?”

“I have a date with Lincoln in…” she glanced at her phone, “ten minutes. You two have fun.”

Bellamy and Clarke were left gaping at her retreating back as she sashayed out of the shop, sending them one last knowing grin before pulling the Jingle Belled door shut behind her.

As the jingling bells quieted, Clarke glanced back at Bellamy, gauging his reaction. His brows were drawn in clear confusion, but he didn’t appear overly distressed by his sister’s sudden departure. His dark eyes slid from the door to meet her inquisitive gaze.

“Sorry about that.”

She shook her head, a rueful smile on her lips. “It’s fine. We probably should have seen that coming.”

He let out a small huff, nodding. “I suppose so.”

“Thanks for the hot chocolate.”

Bellamy chuckled, the sound warm in their intimate corner. “We can part ways now if you want. I don’t want to be the creepy guy who forces you on a date.”

Clarke chewed her lip, staring up at him through her eyelashes. “Is this a date?”

His cheeks colored and his dark eyes dropped to study the wooden table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to presume…”

A small laugh escaped her lips as she extended a hand to grasp his wrist. His bare skin burned against her, sending shocks reverberating through her. She did her best to ignore them as his luminous eyes rose to met hers. “It’s okay. It was a joke. This doesn’t have to be anything… but maybe it could be.” She paused as his eyes widened, surprise flashing through their fathomless depths. “Honestly, I’m just happy I’m not sobbing on a train right now.”

His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he stared back at her. His eyes dropped to her hand before circling back to her face. A myriad of emotions passed behind his stare, startling her with the depth of understanding suffusing his expression. What could he possibly know of her suffering? And yet he looked at her with comprehension, not compassion. She shifted in her seat, pulling her hand away.

Bellamy caught her wrist instantly, his eyes begging entrance to her soul. “You can talk to me.”

“I barely know you.”

He twisted her hand in his grasp, tracing his fingers along the lines of her palm. “Does it matter?”

Did it? As she stared back at him her heart nearly rattled out of her chest. She’d known him an hour, maybe two, and yet she’d never felt this way before. It was as if she could trust him with anything. As if he would keep her safe, no matter how dark her secrets. In his luminous brown eyes hung a universe of possibility. She took a deep breath, adrenaline shooting through her veins.

“No,” she admitted.

“So talk to me.”

The words came without further persuasion, spilling over her lips like droplets cascading over a waterfall. “My father, he died. Fifteen days, eight hours ago. I’m trying to keep it together, I really am, but there’s no one for me to talk to. Wells, he’s away with Doctors without Borders in Kenya. He’s not even coming home for the holidays and I can’t call him because he doesn’t know yet and I can’t bring myself to break the news to him. And I can’t talk to my mother. She’s such a stone wall, but I know if I push her it will all go to shit and I can’t do that to her, not right now.”

His grip on her hand tightened. “The trip to Rockefeller Center… was that to remember your father?”

Clarke nodded, fighting against the swell of moisture threatening to cascade down her cheeks. She refused to breakdown now. Later when she was alone with only Perky, her fluffy white cat, she could let go, but now she wanted to talk. She needed to talk. This might be her only chance. The only chance to come clean to a stranger, no strings attached.

“It’s all my fault.”

Bellamy surged forward, fully invading her space as he shifted to sit in Octavia’s chair. The smell of him, a deep forest-like sent that reminded her of summers in the Adirondacks, pervaded the space between them. His hands shifted to gather both of hers, calming the trembling she hadn’t even noticed.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” he murmured, his deep voice caressing her ear as he leaned closer still.

“But it is. He was driving on the back roads in the mist and I called him. I just wanted to check on his Christmas plans, to see when he was going to get off work and what time I should stop by since mom was too busy at the hospital to see up from down.” She took an unsteady breath, forcing oxygen into her lungs. “And in the time he leaned over to pick up the phone, he missed a curve in the road. Went straight off into a tree. They say he died instantly.”

The table had become a blur in front of her, an impressionist painting of brown and pain. She whispered again, a mere rasp in the darkness, “I killed my father.”

It took her a moment to realize Bellamy’s hands were cupping her face, lifting her despondent gaze to meet his beautiful eyes. “You didn’t kill your father, Clarke. It was an accident. An honest to God accident. He might have looked down to do anything. To change the radio, to check the time…”

“But the accident matches the timestamp of my call.” Her lips were trembling now, her whole jaw vibrating in his firm grip. “It’s my-“

“It is not your fault.” He swiped a thumb over a trickle of moisture running down her cheek.

She shook her head, trying to pull away from him, to retreat to her oasis of suffering. This was her responsibility and a stranger in a café wasn’t about to convince her otherwise, no matter how much he set her blood singing. She remembered with sickening clarity the moment of the phone call from her mother. The moment she realized Jake Griffin was dead followed quickly by the gut wrenching revelation that his time of death matched her phone message. The horrifying comprehension that she had killed him.

Bellamy was talking to her again. She tried to push through the emotion, centering herself on his melodious baritone.

“… know how you feel. My mother died when I was twenty. She got sick and O and I couldn’t save her. The doctors did everything possible, but she was too far gone by the time the diagnosis came through.” He paused, his thumbs caressing her damp cheekbones. “I know how impossible it is to lose a parent so young, but Clarke, this wasn’t your fault. These things just happen and we can’t take responsibility…”

“But-“

“I should have forced my mother to visit her doctor sooner, as soon as the pain started, but I didn’t,” he cut her off, fire in his eyes. “Does that mean I killed her?”

A great shudder wracked through her as she met his blazing gaze. Her whole world shook, trembling like the epicenter of an earthquake, as her paradigm cracked. A gasping sob wrenched through her body, sending her tumbling into his strong arms. “But then why? Why…why… why did he have to die?”

He held her silently, letting the sobs wash over her. In the recesses of her mind Clarke was petrified of breaking down in the arms of a stranger, but she could hardly stop the tidal wave of grief ripping through her. Her throat burned as she hiccupped, the cries consuming her entire body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, I appreciate it so much!


	3. Third Movement: Trust

**Third Movement: Trust**

They stayed there, in the quiet corner of a Manhattan Café, until only cold trails were left on her cheeks and Clarke’s whole body ached from the violence of her sobs. As her consciousness heightened, she tried to pull away from Bellamy, her cheeks burning with shame. She’d vowed not to breakdown and yet somehow she’d been powerless, succumbing to the fit with ease of a child.

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke murmured, attempting to hide her swollen eyes from his penetrating stare.

He shook his head, his silky curls brushing across her forehead as he dipped his head. “Please don’t be. I’m more than happy to help. I can’t imagine how horrible it must be to go through this alone. At least I had O.”

She nodded, chewing her lip and avoiding his charged gaze. He confused her, his power over her too inexplicable for her scientific mind. All logic dictated that she shouldn’t trust him, and yet she knew despite the shame, she was thankful for his presence, for his permission to breakdown. She barely knew this man, but he’d already seen into the tangled depths of her soul. Clarke took a deep breath, searching for equilibrium.

“I should get going… the trains only run so late.”

Bellamy shifted beside her, his grip slackening. A moment later he knelt beside her chair, his dark eyes blazing as they stared up at her disheveled features. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you get on a train right now, “ he growled, voice rough and compelling.

She trembled, adrenaline momentarily chasing away her grief as she gaped down at him. “Then what?”

He paused, his dark eyes traveling her face before he spoke again. “I have an apartment at 23rd and 1st. Stay with me.”

His tone permitted no argument, the words a statement, not a question. Doubt roiled through her, but his warm eyes held no hint of deception and she found that, against all logic, she trusted him. Clarke had never been one to hook up on the first date, never one to trust easily even, but she could hardly resist his offer. Could find no reason to reject him. This stranger had given her more comfort in the last hour than she’d received since Wells left 13 months ago for Africa. Wells had been her rock for so many years that she’d had no idea what to do without him. The months since his departure had been solitary ones, her evenings filled with Netflix and Perky. Work at the hospital was always busy, giving her no chance to find new friends and creating a pervasive state of exhaustion that fueled her lonely lifestyle.

“I promise, all we’ll do is sleep.” His warm brown eyes begged her to submit, promised her salvation from her pain. “Please just come home with me.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay.”

The walk to the subway station was quiet, Bellamy apparently content to let an easy silence hang between them. They walked closely, their gloved fingers occasionally brushing as they made their way past glittering storefronts and through the masses of shoppers and partygoers navigating the streets. Clarke surveyed the shops with new eyes, relishing the rush of memories cascading through her. She would never get her father back, but she could kindle his memory, keeping him alight within her. She could feel him beside, his hand ghosting over her own, as elaborate displays in cozy shop windows caught her eye. The pain was still there, the loss still acute, but she had the sense that maybe, just maybe, this too would pass.

The subway was quieter than usual, most travellers taking to the enchanting Manhattan streets. They found seats together and Clarke leaned against him, her blonde curls settling atop his gray peacoat as her head rested on his shoulder. He let out a hum of contentment, shifting to accommodate her as the concrete walls of the subway tunnel rushed past.

Bellamy was pulling Clarke to her feet all too soon at the 23rd avenue stop. His leather clad hand caught hers as they climbed the stairs, spilling out onto Lexington Ave. The streets were alive as families bustled around them, children running ahead of their parents, grandmothers inching along with their canes. Clarke took a deep breath, savoring the heady flavor of life.

They turned left down 23rd, lazily strolling past bakeries with displays of extravagant holiday cookies and hardware stores lined with flashing lights and glowing Rudolphs. The spirit of the city at Christmas had always been irresistible to Clarke and she was relieved that despite the gnawing loss of her father, the magic touched her just as deeply.

By the time they made it up the elevator to #17G, she felt lighter than before. She hadn’t forgotten her loss, quite the contrary really. She’d found Jake Griffin in the glowing lights and holiday smiles. He might not be a solid figure beside her, but he was all around her in the laughter of the children and the kisses of the grandmothers. She could always find him if she needed.

She settled on the worn couch in Bellamy’s small living room as he retreated to the kitchen. She took the moment to study his retreating back. He’d shed the peacoat at the door and now wore a black button down that showed off his slim waist and muscled shoulders. A flurry of inappropriate thoughts dashed through her head, heating her cheeks and making her shift on the couch. She’d been so caught up in her grief that she hadn’t taken the time to appreciate the magnitude of his beauty. She knew his eyes drove her slowly but inexorably mad, but now she realized how precarious her situation was. Everything about him, from the curve of his full lips to the perfect curve of his toned ass, called to her. And she’d somehow thought that coming home with this man was a good idea.

He returned from the kitchen with glasses of water before she could delve further into the dangers of her decision. A stomach fluttering smile adorned his lips as he sank down beside her.

“I take it you’re feeling better?” His enthralling smile grew at her answering nod. “That’s good. You had me worried back there.”

“I’m sorry.” Clarke sighed. “I just get so caught up in it all. Sometimes there’s no option but to sink with it.”

“I know how that goes.” He paused, his teeth worrying his full lips. “If you want to go now…”

She shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips despite her better judgment. “It’s fine. I’ve come all this way. No reason to inconvenience you further by running straight back to Grand Central.”

“It’s no bother. Really.” His eyes darted to the corridor leading away from the living room. “I have to admit I didn’t really plan this out. I only have one bed and this couch is crap to sleep on.” His dark gaze briefly raked over her before he shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “What am I even saying? I’ll take the couch.”

Clarke agreed with him. That was the most logical solution and would save them both from a world of discomfort. The minute she opened her mouth, however, a whole different set of words escaped. “That’s true, but I really don’t want to be alone tonight.” Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said. She jerked her head up to meet his equally shocked stare. Shit. She tried to backtrack as quickly as possible. “But I won’t be since you’re here too. The bed will be fine…”

He swallowed convulsively, drawing her attention to the smooth skin of his throat. Her mouth watered and her breathed quickened as she studied the tanned flesh. Clarke took a shuddering breath, tearing her eyes away. What the hell was she doing?

“I could sleep on the floor in the bedroom,” he offered, his deep voice sending shivers rocketing down her spine.

Yes. That was a compromise she could live with. It was playing with fire, but at least she wasn’t just leaping into the bonfire. She nodded, taking a deep gulp of water. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Together they made their way down the hall, Bellamy pausing to grab a sleeping bag from the closet. He dropped it by the door the bedroom, rushing in front of her to clear some dirty clothes off the bed and into the hamper sitting in the far corner of the room. The walls were a dull yellow color, but he’d covered them almost entirely in depictions of Greek and Roman mythology. She recognized an ornate painting of Cupid and Psyche hanging over the queen-sized bed and Theseus and Minotaur next to the closet. A framed poster for Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar in Central Park hung beside the nightstand.

“I take it you enjoy classical history?” she questioned wryly.

His freckled cheeks flushed as he stared back at her from beside the hamper. “Yeah. Not just a subject I teach…”

“I always liked it best when my teachers were passionate about their subjects.” The words were innocent, but the minute they left her mouth she felt her face warm. He was hardly her teacher, but just the image of him in front of a classroom had her breath quickening.

He cleared his throat, the noise loud in the quiet bedroom. She shifted her gaze away from him, eyeing the bed. It looked comfortable enough with its fluffy navy comforter and matching pinstripe sheets. She could hear Bellamy shifting behind her, the rustling of the sleeping bag filling the awkward silence.

“I can change the sheets,” he offered quietly, his voice strained in a way that had her blood pounding as she turned to face him.

His focus was fastened on the sleeping bag spread before him, but she could feel the tension vibrating between them. It had been a stupid idea to suggest sharing a room, but she didn’t dare bring up the topic now. He’d helped in a time of need and whatever other connection might linger between them, that was what mattered. Needing to distract herself, she moved toward the linen closet he’d opened in the hall. “I’ll grab a change of sheets.”

“Try the black ones, those fit this bed. The rest are leftover from the house in Pennsylvania.”

His voice trailed after her into the hall. As soon as she was around the corner, she collapsed against the wall, her breath heaving. How the hell had she thought this was a good idea? The panic rushing through her veins was born of want, not fear, but it left her no less uncomfortable. The dashing stranger that had lightened her load was doing inexplicable things to her heart. She’d never craved someone like she craved him. Yet she barely knew him, could not begin to justify finding comfort in his toned arms, caressing his pouting lips with her own. Clarke clapped a hand to her forehead, feeling heat. Maybe she just had a fever. And maybe they were on Mars.

Groaning, she pushed off the wall to open the linen closet. She yanked the black sheets from the shelf and marched back toward the bedroom, determined not to let her brimming desire show.

He’d stripped off his shirt in her absence and was now clad only in a pair of loose gray sweatpants that left very little to the imagination. She couldn’t stop the rake of her eyes as she devoured the sight of his chiseled chest. Her blood ran hot again and she tore her eyes away, focusing on divesting the bed of its pinstripe sheets.

The silence remained as she worked, as thick as a wall, as subtle as a white elephant. He seemed as uncertain as Clarke, clearly unwilling to break the onerous silence. She could hear each of his rasping breaths, each of her stampeding heartbeats. Once the black sheets were stretched into place, she slowly turned to face him, but he was already inside the sleeping bag, angled away from her. She let out a silent prayer of thanks as she slipped out of her red sweater. She didn’t exactly want to sleep in her jeans, but she was hardly enthusiastic about sleeping in just her underwear. Sighing, she unzipped her boots before climbing into the bed fully clothed. Even with fresh sheets, Bellamy’s scent hovered around her. She breathed it in shamelessly, pulling comfort from it as the roller coaster of her day washed over her. Sleep. She searched for oblivion as she listened to his breathing echo across the silent bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos. I hope you're stilling enjoying and wish you all a wonderful holiday season!


	4. Fourth Movement: Love

**Fourth Movement: Love**

Clarke awoke to a hand shaking her shoulder, brown eyes swimming into focus in the icky blackness. She immediately retreated from the stranger before her, eyes bouncing chaotically around her foreign environment.

“Hey, it’s okay,” a deep voice assured her. “You were having a nightmare and I thought I should wake you up…”

“Bellamy?”

Her brain caught up with her senses as she took in his muscled chest and messy curls glowing in the city lights. He nodded down at her, edging closer now that she’d halted her retreat. She let her head fall back to the pillow, a puff of air releasing from her lips. “Sorry…”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” His deep voice sent waves of comfort through her, settling her restless mind. “You were dreaming of your father?”

“I…” she paused, wracking her memory. “I think so. It’s too shadowy to remember. Just feelings of pain, loss, regret…”

He perched on the bed next to her, the heat of him bleeding into her skin. “Do you need anything? Water? Whiskey?”

She shook her head, sliding over on the bed. “Stay with me?”

His eyes widened in the darkness, but he didn’t move away from her. “Are you sure?”

Clarke held out a hand. She’d never been surer of anything. Despite her conflicting emotions and her unbridled desire for him, she knew his presence would temper her grief. With the stakes so high, she could keep her yearnings at bay. The darkness of the dream still clawed at her senses, drawing her into a tangled web of grief and despair. She needed him to ground her, to cast away her demons, if only for a night.

With a last lingering look he slipped wordlessly onto the mattress beside her. Clarke’s skin exploded in goosebumps where his bare torso brushed against her, but she ignored the sensation, relishing instead feeling of security he brought. He stiffened as his feet came into contact with the rough material of her jeans, twisting to meet her gaze.

“I have an extra T-shirt and pants, if you want?”

The question hung between for a long moment before she nodded. As much as she wanted to settle into the cocoon they’d created, her jeans were getting seriously uncomfortable. She tried to hide her sigh of loss as he pushed away from her, pulling the dresser drawer open and handing her a ball of material. She accepted the clothes silently, padding out of the room to change in the bathroom. Closing the bathroom, she took at steadying breath before splashing water over her face, not daring to glimpse her reflection in the mirror.

By the time she returned to the bed, he was already asleep, his breaths coming evenly in the quiet room. She carefully sidled in beside him, taking care not to disturb his slumber. The dark halo of his hair framed the stunning angles of his face and she took a moment to simply drink him in. She let her eyes roam over him, memorizing the strong cleft of his chin, the scar above his lip, the constellations of his freckles. It would all be over tomorrow, but in this moment, she could let down her guard, release her grief and simply be a woman discovering a man. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she settled next to him, curling into the heat of him. Her head rolling to rest on his shoulder as she prayed for dreamless sleep.

 

~*~

 

The glow of morning light wrested Clarke from her slumber hours later. The spot beside her on the bed was empty, but she could hear clattering emanating from the kitchen. She rolled off the bed, her toes luxuriating in the plush carpet as she made her way to the window. A fresh layer of snow blanketed the city and the sound of laugher filled the air. Learning forward, she could just make out snowballs sailing as a group of children passed below.

A smile traced her lips as she headed for the kitchen, steeling herself for the inevitable awkwardness of the encounter. To her surprise, an easy smile graced Bellamy’s full lips as he extended a mug of coffee to her. “I have tea too, but I figured you’d be a coffee drinker.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, dropping to sit in one of the chairs at the small kitchen table. “Sorry about last night.”

He shrugged, his muscled shoulders pulling against the white tee shirt stretched tightly across his chest. “I’ve been through worse. You sleep better after?”

“Yes. Thank you for…” she trailed off, not quite ready to acknowledge the intimacy of their sleeping arrangement.

Catching her meaning, he simply nodded. “So what’s on your agenda?”

“I have to work this afternoon back home in New Paltz.” She sighed glancing at the clock on the wall. “Which means I’ve got to get going.”

His expression dimmed, but he nodded his acceptance. “I’ll take you to Grand Central?”

“Sure.” She glanced down at his shirt and sweats. “I’ll just go change…” She turned away from him, pushing the sadness in his eyes from her memory. No matter the strength of their connection or the kindness he’d shown her, they had separate lives and Clarke was in no position to uproot her life for some man she’d just met.

She slowly changed back in the bedroom, taking the time to memorize the room. . Her jeans felt foreign, abrasive compared to the worn cotton of his pants as she pulled them on. She inhaled deeply, drinking in the scent of him, as she placed the tee shirt and pants in the clothes hamper. She sighed, blonde curls flying as she tried to clear her head and summon the power of will to leave the safe haven she’d only just discovered. As she reached down to pick up her sweater, which had been dropped haphazardly on a bookcase by the door, an embellished copy of the Odyssey caught her eye. Clarke had never managed to finish that epic back in high school, but maybe now she’d give it another go.

Clarke indulged herself with one last lingering glance before gathering her purse and heading into the hall. He’d pulled a dark green sweater over his white shirt and toed on brown boots. His peacoat hung over his shoulder, and his long fingers gripped his leather gloves. Clarke swallowed heavily.

“Ready?” he questioned, brushing invisible lint off his dark wash jeans as he moved toward the apartment door.

“Yeah.” She grabbed her red parka off the coat hook. His eyes lingered on hers as they stood before the door, the moment drawing out before he put a hand on the knob.

Soon they were lost in the festivity of the streets. As it was last day of the weekend before the holiday, shoppers bustled about, large red and green bags trailing behind them. Bellamy’s hand caught her own as they made their way through the crowds to the subway, catching the Lexington Avenue Express to Grand Central. Inside the central concourse of the train station, tourists swarmed, camera flashes exploding in every direction. He led her easily to the timetable for the Hudson line, cutting through the masses with ease of a local.

“Ten minutes,” she read, her stomach dropping to the floor. His expression was stoic as she glanced over at him, but he didn’t leave her side as Clarke headed for the ticket machines. It was only after they’d made their way down to Platform 40 where the train sat waiting, doors open for departure, that he finally broke the silence.

“Clarke.”

She looked up at him, losing herself in the depths of his luminous brown eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest as he took a step closer to her. She could see the swirl of brown in his eyes, the individual lashes shuttering them, even the hop of his pulse against the tan skin of his neck.

“I…” She paused, unsure of what to say. The five minute warning sounded beside them, reminding Clarke of her imminent departure.

One second she was catching her breath, the next his lips were on hers, hot and demanding. She gasped against him, allowing him to plunder the depths of her mouth. It was everything she’d imagined it could be and more. Her heart sang and her skin crackled with electricity, his touch setting her aflame. She moaned into his mouth, savoring the feel of his chapped lips melding into her own. Oh God. This was more than she’d ever expected, or imagined, she could feel.

He pulled away all too soon, his pants ghosting over her skin as he rested his forehead against hers. His fingers were tangled in her blonde tresses, clinging to her with a desperation that sent heat surging through her.

Bellamy took a deep breath as he trembled against her. He pulled back a fraction and Clarke’s breath caught as she met his hooded gaze, his eyes glazed with unmistakable desire.

“At least give me your number.” His voice was stained, needy.

She nodded vehemently. How foolish she had been to imagine this connection wasn’t worth fighting for. The man before her had talked her down from the depths of despair. How was he not worth holding on to?

He reluctantly released his grip on her, digging in his jeans pocket to find his phone. He thrust it toward her, his dark eyes promising earthly delights and safe passage through the coming storm. She quickly punched in her phone number, her fingers shaking as she tapped the screen.

The one minute warning sounded and he crushed her back to him, his arms wrapping around her to tangle in her hair. His lips ghosted over her ear as he rasped, “Please don’t leave me hanging, Princess.”

She gripped him tightly, clinging to him as if her life depended on it. “I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

And then she was out of his arms, the rush of cold so much more than just the platform air. His eyes held hers all the way onto the train, only losing their connection as the doors slid shut. The heat of his eyes haunted her as she dropped into an empty seat, her heat racing and blood pounding. Had that really just happened to her?

Her phone buzzed and she glanced down to read the message from an unknown number. _Miss you already, Princess. – Bellamy Blake_. Her fingers traced over the letters of his name as the train raced away from the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading so very much.
> 
> Happy Holidays!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed.


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